Message to the Stars
by allonyoav
Summary: A long prepared plan
Reality seemed a fast-fading dream. Roland lifted his eyes from the pages before him, the loose folios carefully spread out on the floor. It had taken him two years of lobbying to get hold of them. Two years of phone calls, letters and, eventually, a personal trip to the archives of Miskatonic University in Boston. At last, they were released to him on an inter-library loan, and his research kicked off in earnest.

Now, six years later, the script was yielding its secrets. Roland would now be able decipher the manuscript; the cracked code the key to its hidden knowledge! And the breakthrough had been in rearranging the tightly bound folio copy into loose folios and viewing the whole as a picture, not in statistical cryptographic analysis or computer models, but plain old viewing the folios laid next to each other from a literal ten foot high bird's eye view, and the image on the computer screen altering as he moved the pages, a completed jigsaw puzzle.

With images of international acclaim, of being published in journals of cryptography, linguistics and ancient history, Roland decided it was time to celebrate. Smiling, he carefully recorded the layout of each folio, taking pictures on the new Canon digital camera that his wealthy benefactor in the United States had sent. Who knew how the strange recluse, Gideon Carter, had heard of the studies of a linguistics professor at Wits University in South Africa, or why he should decide to so generously fund his research!

Lovingly, he replaced each of the folios into a protective mylar sheaf. Each folio delicately handled before being locked into the environmentally controlled room. With the pictures, the originals could be returned to Miskatonic University and their protected vaults. Tomorrow he could begin the true task of deciphering the meaning behind the folios.

A year later, a strangely cloaked and huddled figure surprised Roland as it wandered into his office. Roland tried, but could see no features in the shadows of the hood; he could not tell if the figure was male or female, at least, not until the hood was thrown back. The man was short, bent over and covered under a cloak that would have been fashionable in 19th century London, but was out of place in the heat of a Johannesburg summer's day. The face was oddly distorted, the eyes too small, the nose too large and the mouth a small 'o' with non-existent lips and small rat like fangs, but the smile seemed genuine.

"Aheh. A pleasure to finally meet you, Professor de Vries." A deep voice boomed out, loud and out of resonance with the small body and petite mouth. The man extended his hand, a deformed one displaying three fingers and an oddly placed thumb.

Roland did not think, early childhood upbringing taking over before he could hesitate, he half stood up, his hand grabbing the small, oddly formed hand before his.

"Good afternoon. May I ask who you are?"

The intruder laughed. "My apologies, I should have introduced myself sooner. I am Gideon Carter."

Hastily Roland stood fully, coming out from behind his desk.

"My apologies! I did not know that you were coming or I would have been at the airport to meet you myself!" Solicitously he pulled his visitor's chair out from the desk, seating his guest while hastening to the coffee machine hidden behind a pile of books.

"Something to drink, sir?"

Gideon leaned forward, his small, black eyes sparkling. He regarded the professor, a caricature of the type with his beer belly, one flap of his shirt hanging out, hair dishevelled and some crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"I came as soon as I learnt you were truly beginning to decipher the old Aztec document. You must tell me everything! And note, do not call me 'sir'. I find it offensive."

"Of course I shall do so, Gideon." Roland sat down, outlining his findings.

"First a bit of background material is necessary. So bear with me. It is different to what I postulated to you in previous communications."

"You are probably aware of the work of Erik Von Daineken, how he postulates that many of the wonders of the ancient world were built by visitors from the stars. He uses this hypothesis to solve the issues of how the ancients, with their limited means and resources, were able to build many of the structures which arguably they should not have been able to."

"This ancient manuscript of ours has never had a title. It has always merely been known as 'Manuscript 10a from burial chamber, Aztec, New Mexico'. The document has been moved from library archive to library archive, with no one able to explain its departure from known Aztec forms or methods of writing. It found its way into the Miskatonic University library, into their occult studies locked section, and from whence they seldom allowed anyone to see it, let alone remove it from their possession! Only after the death of Professor Felix Ward did I manage to get permission. It seems that Professor Ward was superstitious about this document, that he claimed it was evil and brought bad luck. A strange notion for an otherwise noted and respected academic."

For a moment Roland paused, looking as if he should say something, and then continued.

"Now here is why I mentioned Erik Von Daineken. He noted, as has been noted by other scholars, that there are various ancient places and images that are made to be seen from above, from a vantage point that would have been impossible for any in those times to achieve. His answer is to say that they are built for the benefit of the star-faring beings that helped our primitive ancestors. This notion, as ridiculed as it is, led me to my discovery. A mere chance discussion at a party, someone remarking that maybe writing should be placed to be seen from space, a sign to those ancient teachers of ours that we were ready to be taught some more."

"Someone else joked that the writing should be in hieroglyphics, since that is the form they would recognize. The notion intrigued me, and I decided to test the theory on a single folio- scribing the pattern out in my garden, and hiring a helicopter to fly me over. I was astounded, from a sufficient height the lines blurred, and a section of an image could be seen. At that point I requested from you the funds to buy the environmentally controlled warehouse. A request to which you, thankfully, acquiesced." Gideon stopped, bowed his head in thanks to his benefactor and then continued.

"From then on it was completing a jigsaw puzzle. A strange one indeed, and a disturbing one, for the picture that emerged was far from pleasant. I refrained from sending it to you, since I first wanted to understand as much of it as possible. But, since you are here, let me give you a copy."

He went to his computer, and shortly thereafter his printer spewed out a document, an A3 sheet containing the most remarkable image. In it, a massive creature, with a hawk like head, human body and a mass of tentacle like legs grasped people in its arms, each one a tentacle ending in a claw. At the bottom of its legs was a massive fire, in which blobs with only mouths and eyes screamed.

Gideon looked at the image, his excitement palpable. "Have you learned anything of this image? Do you know anything of it?"

Roland moved to sit behind his desk, facing his benefactor. "I have learned something, but it is disturbing. It appears that similar images have been found in the Easter Islands among the isolated tribes there. They are usually considered evil, their worshippers shunned and killed when discovered. All too often, those who worship these images appear to carry a host of congenital deformities." As he said it, Roland regretted his words, his benefactor's physical deformity quickly leaping to his mind. He continued on, hoping he had not caused offence. "This image is far more complete than any of the others I have seen or read about. The main similarity is the main figure, but the flames at the bottom are unique to this figure."

Gideon nodded, his fingers convulsively flexing, crushing the paper in his grip.

"We must build this figure. We must see what the ancients planned."

Roland smiled. "I hoped you would say that. I was going to do more research to find the material to approach you with a completed thesis. It is a godsend that you have arrived, and wish to continue with this project! Come, you will stay in my home while you are here. We must make plans!"

Gideon smiled. "I'm afraid I will not be able to avail myself of your hospitality. I came to your country on some business matters, and I must hurry home. I just wanted to see how far you had progressed in your research, to assure myself my money has been well spent. And now I am convinced it has been! You have my accountant's number. I will instruct him to release all necessary funds."

With the full backing of Gideon, Roland sank into his work. People remarked that he appeared obsessed, a man driven by a compulsion and need to finish a great project. A year passed, and in that time a farm was bought, one with enough space to inscribe the image to the scale of Easter Island heads, each individual inscribed to the enlarged scale, the massive central figure correspondingly larger.

The work was still a few months from completion, and every day Roland would go up in a helicopter and view the image as it neared completion, making sure that it remained true to the picture.

Roland sat at the farmhouse, relaxing when the car arrived. It drove up to the gate of the farmhouse and a man got out. Roland had never seen him before; he looked Indian or Polynesian, he wasn't sure. The man looked at him, smiled, put a box down on the ground, and left.

Intrigued, Roland went over to the box. It was made of some dark wood, almost black. The lid was encrusted with something that covered its details. A substance that flaked off in his hands, leaving a black residue that turned red when rubbed. Roland took it inside, opened it, and stepped back in shock. Inside lay a glass container filled with a thick red liquid, a mass of spiders exiting as the lid rose. None of them seemed interested in him, and soon the box was empty, aside from the glass container. He lifted it out, and found, at the bottom of the box, a leather bound book. Its cover was embossed in gold with the now familiar image of the creature from the picture.

Amazed, he opened the book and found it set out in two columns, one in hieroglyphics that resembled those of the Egyptian pyramids, the other in English. His knowledge of hieroglyphics was good enough that quickly determined that the English was a translation of the hieroglyphs. Delighted, he sat down with the thin book, which appeared to be an instruction manual for those who worshipped Khri'saor, the creature from the cover of the book.

It took a month, and requests for more money from his benefactor, but the changes were made to the near-complete figure. Something had changed inside Roland as he had read the book. The foreman of the men labouring on the task ordered his men to stay away from him. His temper seemed out of control and his appearance became more bizarre. His hair grew wild, and he hadn't shaved in the time since the book had arrived. Also, he had grown exceedingly thin, his skin flushed and red, covered with small blisters and an ever-growing rash. His eyes had become sunken, dark pits which made his once blue eyes look black, they were also bloodshot and occasionally it appeared that he wept tears of blood. Suggestions that he should go to a doctor were met with disdain.

So he appeared when Gideon arrived shortly before the figure was completed. He looked at Roland and smiled, seemingly satisfied.

"Three days till the summer solstice, my friend." Gideon's cloak was pulled up high, protecting his face from the sun. Roland, too, was wearing long shirts with high collars to protect his sensitive, ailing skin from the sun. Yet neither of them seemed discomforted by the heat of the day which was fast reaching close to forty degrees centigrade.

Roland smiled, and when he did a faecal smell emanated from his mouth, along with the site of his now rotten and decaying teeth.

"The work will be completed. Everything has been done by the instructions. We will call them down, and he will come and save us all. After all, does not the Book of Khri'saor say he was with us from ancient times, and the ancients sent people to steal his knowledge? I researched it, and it can't be just a linguistic coincidence that it is so close to Khrysaor, the father of Geryon from whom Hercules stole the cattle. Perhaps it is another Prometheus legend, changed and distorted over time!"

Three days passed in which the grand design was finally completed. The image from the manuscript was complete, and surrounding it were massive heads, reminiscent of those found on the Easter Islands. The workers abandoned the farm, the local witch doctor telling them all it was evil, that they must stay away. A sangoma came and threw bones and a poultice over the wall, wetting the ground to chase the evil spirits away.

Midday approached and the two men hobbled out towards the centre of the figure, where the navel of the huge creature was, an immense piece of obsidian that had been shaped into a perfect cube. Roland clutched the jug of red liquid in his hands. It could be seen that it was much depleted and that something large and black floated within. Behind him Gideon walked, occasionally glancing up at the sun which was fast nearing its Zenith.

At the stone they stopped, both removing their clothing and stood naked in the field. It could be seen that Roland's body was fully covered with the rash and blisters, his skin peeling off in some places, yet he seemed unperturbed by his physical deterioration. Smiling, he drank from the liquid in the glass container and passed it to Gideon.

As Gideon took the liquid, drinking some for himself, the difference between the two men was remarkable. Unlike his visible portions, his body glowed with health. He was muscular, standing straight, his skin unblemished save for a slight sheen that might have been sweat, or to the more imaginative, light reflecting off tiny scales. Stepping forward he emptied the liquid onto the obsidian cube. He turned around, raising his arms, and started chanting. Roland mirrored him, showing some signs of ill ease for the first time.

They chanted for hours. From midday they stood in the boiling sun until night began to fall. Roland, exhausted and physically depleted, dropped to the ground.

"I am sorry, Gideon. It appears that it was just another ancient legend. Foolish of us to think it would be true!"

Gideon laughed, and his hands gripped his cane, which he rapidly brought down onto Roland's weakened legs. The crack of broken bones was loud in the deserted field. Still laughing, Gideon bent down, putting the screaming Roland onto the obsidian block.

"A legend? No! It is true. Khri'saor exists. I should know, since millennia ago he was my father! Do not the Greek legends describe how their Gods, how the Titans mated with humans? I want to call back my father. The Hercules legend was almost true, but distorted with the passage of distance and time. Who knows how my father's cult travelled from Greece to the Polynesian Islands and from there to the Aztecs? But so it is! Hercules stole from Geryon, from me, the secrets to lock my father away. And now I will break the seals and bring him back!"

Laughing at the writhing Roland he stepped back, the chanting different now. Gideon's voice blared out, unnaturally loud, a sound no mere mortal could utter. He took his cane and pulled the top off, revealing a dagger with an intricately carved blade. Quickly he began dissecting the still living, still screaming, Roland. His intestines were pulled out, encircling the altar like a living snake. And while Roland screamed, his dying lips were stilled as his heart was ripped out and replaced with the black mass from within the red liquid.

Geryon stepped back, admiring his handiwork, watching as the ground around him buckled and heaved. He ran for the edge of the figure, tripping and stumbling as the ground shook and roiled, as it heaved up, the sand oozing and changing. He watched as the ground rose up, and coalesced into the creature, towering into the night sky. He smiled, laughed and wept hysterically as one of the tentacles swept down, grasped him, pulled him up towards the face.

Gently the tentacle brought him up to that immense beak before biting him in two- a tasty morsel that had been prepared so long ago and then forgotten. Looking up at the stars, Khri'saor looked up briefly before the countryside lit up with the flame of his passage back to the stars.


End file.
